Something I can't have
by pattywilliamson
Summary: April 15th, 1915. / "You know..." Rose began carefully. "Someone once told me that every time you saw a shooting star, it was a soul going to heaven, and that you were supposed to wish on it. You're supposed to wish on the soul that finished its life."


Where to, miss?

* * *

**April 15th, 1915**

The apartment was small and the air outside was chilly, so when Clara opened the front door, a swarm of cold air came rushing in.

It was quiet in the apartment except for the soft whir of the rotary washing machine underneath the thin floor boards of their apartment; the apartment that no one wanted because it was right above the laundry room. Because of the almost-silence surrounding her, Rose heard the door open and close with clarity.

"Rose? Where are you?"

"Over here," Rose called out, only projecting her voice enough for her best friend to hear her. The redhead's voice was small and broken because for the majority of the Thursday afternoon, she'd been softly weeping to herself.

Clara Stanford's feet trodded lightly on the wooden floorboards, aiming to reach her roommate. When Rose turned her head she saw the familiar face: short and thin black hair, hazel eyes, rounded face, topped off with a warm and welcoming smile. "Hi, Rose," Clara greeted, sitting next to her by the windowsill.

The starry night sky was beautiful; the moon could be clearly seen from the corner of Rose's vision, and all of the stars were accessories along with it, giving the black sky items to light up the earth with. For a few years now, Rose had loved staring at the stars and envisioning what could be up there, beyond them. She thought about what it would feel like if it really was possible to step foot on the moon, to see the solar system from a completely different perspective, as Clara had spoken of a few months ago.

Then, it just occurred to her, maybe Rose should respond to her. "Hi, Clara," Rose returned, turning away from the window for a moment. "How was work?"

"It was fun!" Clara smiled. "I wish you could have been there. Joel really put on his best performance tonight, I think."

"You know, it surprises me," Rose said quietly, "that such a boring person could be such a good actor."

Clara laughed, but Rose only attempted a weak smile. She longed to be happy (and for the last three years, most of the time, she had been a very happy person) but April was always the hardest month, and April 15th proved to be the most difficult of all. Rose presumed it must have been around 10 or 11 PM, so very close to entering April 16th.

Rose and Clara were both actresses at their local theater. Clara wished to stay within live stage performances, but Rose longed to break out and become a moving picture actress. That was what she wanted from when she was 13 years old, when she saw Miss Maude Fealy in a film. And now that Rose had the chance, she didn't want to miss the opportunity to finally become a moving picture actress, and if that plan failed, she could always be an artist or a sculptor or a dancer, like Isadora Duncan, a wild pagan spirit.

Rose thoroughly enjoyed and treasured her job at the theater, but she had taken the day off. It would take too much out of her to putting effort into a play when all she wanted to do was lay down and think about the past.

"I don't think he's that boring," Clara protested lightly, but she had a smile on her face.

"He has a monotonous voice!" Rose laughed weakly. "He doesn't have any friends. He's always the first one to work and the last one to leave."

"Speak for yourself, Rosie," Clara said happily, calling her roommate by her nickname. "You don't have many friends other than me."

"At least I attempt to speak to them. I'm friendly with Mary, William, Anna, James, Helen..."

"Well, yes, Rose. Lately you've been so personable, I wouldn't be surprised if you had made friends with a tree."

Rose laughed genuinely, the sides of her lips almost reaching the tips of her ears. Clara was a very funny person to be around; she always lifted Rose's spirits on days when she was upset by making her feel better about herself. In June 1914, last year, Rose hadn't wanted to get out of bed. She'd lied to Clara by telling her it was because she thought she was a bad person, and then Clara proceeded to list all the reasons of why Rose wasn't.

In all honesty, Rose knew she wasn't a bad person, but it was easier to lie about horrible self-esteem than to explain that someone should have been turning 23 but was eternally stuck at 20.

"Oh, Rose," Clara sighed, most likely from exhaustion. She copied her by placing her arms on the windowsill, mirroring Rose. "I wish you had been at work today. It's always so boring without you there. Let's be honest here, you're by far the best actress recruited at that theater."

"Do you really think so?" Rose asked her best friend quizzically.

Clara nodded, and Rose smiled in gratitude. "Thank you," she said honestly. Their boss, Arthur, had complimented Rose on her acting skills multiple times before, so she almost knew she was the best actress in the theater. She thought Clara was very talented, and so were the others, but she knew she wasn't going to diminish her skills to compliment her friends'.

"Do you think you'd be able to come in tomorrow?" Clara continued to ask questions, even though all Rose wanted was peace and quiet as she stared at the stars. "Like I said, it's boring without you there."

"That's because everyone needs Rose Dawson there to light up their day," Rose joked, cueing another laugh from Clara.

It was lame, but Rose was pleased when she — or someone else — spoke her full name.

"Will you be there, though?" Clara asked again. "I really did miss you today."

"I don't know," Rose breathed, staring out the window again. The stars always brought her peace on nights of heartache, much like tonight. "I'm not feeling too well, and I don't know if I'll feel any better tomorrow. I'll probably go back on Monday."

"But Monday is the 19th," Clara stated simply. "You know you won't get paid if you take another three days off of work."

Yes, Monday would be April 19th, meaning three years and one day of Rose Dawson.

"I realize," Rose responded calmly, still staring longingly out the window. "I think I'll be able to handle three days without pay, though. Because if I'm being quite honest with you, Clara, I don't wish to work when I'm not feeling well."

Rose was so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn't even realized how her words had come out. "There's no need to be snippy," Clara scolded her, her expression a mix between anger and sadness.

Rose sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm not happy today, Clara. I'm really not. And I don't think I'll be happy tomorrow, either."

The anger from Clara's face had faded completely, leaving only sadness. "Will you ever be happy again?" She wondered innocently, like a small child.

"Yes," Rose confirmed honestly. "I'll be happy again. Just not...not right now. Not within the next few days, I won't be happy."

The two women were silent for another few moments. She didn't care if Clara thought she was being rude and uncouth and presumptuous or not. Rose seized the chance to find her peace by staring at the stars again, finding a tranquil aisle after living in the monstrosity of a home that was her mind.

After about one or two more minutes, Clara finally spoke again. "Is there any way I can help you?"

"Clara, I don't need help," Rose returned calmly, no anger residing in her tone whatsoever. "I'm fine, I promise you. It's just...these few days...they've been very hard for me and I...I...I..."

At this, Rose knew she was starting to choke up. She could feel the lump forming in her throat, the pain at the bottom of her chest that would be so excruciating some nights that she'd cry herself to sleep thinking about the events of the past. Normally, Rose allowed herself to get upset, because it wouldn't do her any good holding her emotions in, but she hadn't cried in front of her best friend before. It felt foreign to be shedding tears in front of Clara.

"It's alright to get upset," Clara stated information that Rose already knew. "I'll...I'll support you in any way I can. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" Rose snapped the second after Clara finished, but apologized immediately after. "...sorry. I just don't think...I don't think I'm ready to talk about it. Yet."

The last word was a lie; Rose knew she'd never be ready to talk about it. The memories were too private, too much of a secret to share with anyone. Even if she found love and married again (she couldn't imagine the guilt she'd feel if she did fall in love with someone else right now), Rose doubted she'd even share the memories with him.

"Well, when you're ready," Clara breathed, and Rose couldn't interpret what she was feeling. "Rosie, I just want you know that I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. When you're sad or when you're happy...I'll be right by your side."

"Thank you," Rose said nonchalantly, smiling even though it was 100% forced. "Well, I'm tired," she yawned, leaning her head against the windowsill. "I'll be heading to bed in a moment."

"I'm tired too," Clara said, although Rose wasn't truly listening. "I might follow you up there."

Since Rose and Clara had lived in poverty together since 1912, they could only afford a one-bedroom apartment, but they slept in different beds. All Rose wanted, especially tonight, was to be by herself and stay up, thinking about all that she lost three years ago.

If she had the bedroom all to herself that night, she'd think about how differently her life would have been had she not boarded that dumb ship. For one thing, she'd still be miserable, trapped in an abusive relationship she couldn't get out of, thanks to her mother. If she hadn't boarded the ship of dreams, she wouldn't be sitting here with Clara, staring at the stars, thinking about a person she had for only a mere three days then lost him right after.

Rose wanted to sit by herself and think by herself, but she knew she'd be asking too much if she requested for Clara to sleep on the couch, so she sucked it up. Rose's head remained on the windowsill, glimpsing her last view of the stars tonight.

The stars were the only way she could possibly think of to feel closer to him. Rose didn't have a picture of the man who had saved her life, nor did she have anything to tell her he ever existed except her memory. All she could do was stare at the stars and think, one day, she was going to be with him. Whether it be tomorrow or 80 years from now, she'd find her way back to him.

"The night sky is beautiful tonight," Clara commented quietly, realizing Rose's eyes were closed.

"Yeah," Rose agreed softly, glimpsing the sky once again. "It's so vast and endless, but they're so small, you know? Some of the stars we're seeing right now might not even exist anymore, because of the distance between Earth and the stars that might have exploded months ago."

"You're so smart, do you know that?" Clara said, admiration in her tone.

Rose shrugged and smiled. "I read some things occasionally."

It was just then that Rose noticed a long trail of light streak across the sky. "Oh!" She blurted, watching the shooting star fade away into the night. "That was a shooting star," she said simply.

"They're beautiful," Clara continued the conversation.

For a moment, Rose hesitated. She knew what she wanted to say, but didn't know whether to voice her thoughts or not. This would be diving into memories that were much too private...so private and so important to her it would stay locked up in her memory, only for her, forever.

But the information she learned could escape.

"You know..." Rose began carefully. "Someone once told me that every time you saw a shooting star, it was a soul going to heaven, and that you were supposed to wish on it. You're supposed to wish on the soul that finished its life."

Rose closed her eyes and tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, willing herself not to cry. She had just shared something that for three years she'd sworn she'd never tell anyone and—

"I think that's beautiful," Clara whispered, yawning. "So, what did you wish for?"

Rose knew exactly what she wished for.

She wished for the person of whom she'd felt so strongly for that she'd jumped off of a lifeboat and back onto a sinking ship to be with.

She wished to be back in the Renault with him, battling with these emotions; did she love him, or was she just a foolish teenager hopelessly infatuated with a boy she just met? She wished to engage in the same thing she did in the back seat of the car with him, and realizing she did, in fact, love him.

She loved him so much she told him she was going to get off with him. But she couldn't get off with him. She walked off the Carpathia alone, with over $600 dollars and a diamond worth over $4500 in her pocket, but without the person she loved, without the person she gave up everything for.

Rose exhaled slowly, trying to calm her breaths. She glanced out the window. "Something I can't have."

* * *

To the stars.


End file.
